On Ice
by daedricgurl
Summary: They said it was a dead give away, hence the huge surprise. He lost. How could he lose? He was the greatest, but eventually he'd need to be replaced. Why is that so hard to except though? He was glad he had some help now... Light BL. Plushenko/Weir
1. Chapter 1

NOW THE EVENTS OF THESE PEOPLE NEVER TOOK PLACE! Well, they might have, but I didn't know that.

This was made up of my own fantasy, and I've no control in anyway over these men. I'm not making any profit, and this was made for my own enjoyment, and possibly others.

If this is a major offense, PLEASE tell me before you sue. I will promtly take it down, but I'd like a small paragraph with reasoning on why it's offensive.

The story WILL progress.

I was told that this wasn't illegal, I've seen many band stories so I'm trying my hand at this...

I'm not bashing ANYONE in my fic.

What happened, happened, I have my beliefs, and you have yours.

Please keep discussion of the medals out of the review sections. If you want a heated debate, PM me and I'll gladly argue with you. :)

(Maybe...)

Please don't flame...

I'm trying my hardest...

* * *

Plushenko & Weir

_Evgeni Plushenko, the 23-year-old Russian, is so heavily favored that American champion Johnny Weir has said: "The rest of us are fighting for second."_

It had been quite something to watch really. The young man had gone quite some time before the blonde. The blonde that was now standing, so still, that the crowed even imitated him. Though not on purpose; they were holding their breaths as they waited for the figure on the ice to make his move. He breathed evenly, eyes barely open; looking down at his skates, looking down at the marred ice.

He wondered what he was thinking, as he glanced next to him, the shorter figure of a Japanese man held quite the same expression. The Russian on the ice, the way he had entered, with cutting confidence. Arrogance even; the man expressed in his erect back smooth strokes as he took up his position; that he would win. They were all simply waiting for him to make a mess of the ice, to melt it with his fluid movements.

Then, he was off. Even as the music had this tense, start up. His movements were smooth and fluid as he brought himself around the rink. Faster and faster, facing one way, and then the other. Before their eyes he landed a smooth combo. There was something sensual and romantic with the way he used his body as he began moving about again. A gentle framing touch to his face, to his shoulders chest and stomach.

Weir found himself taking pleasure when he dropped low to the ice; gold fanning out at the steady spin. Holding his jaw in his hand as Plushenko rose, arm extended high above him; then the fluid provocative movement of his hips. He frowned deeply, looked away in embarrassment, as several others seemed to have done the same. When he looked back; the man was actually doing a sort of salsa! He was dancing! Amongst his leaps; twirls and spins; he'd added in dancing!

Weir wished he could clap along with the crowd, but why would he clap for his own demise? He watched the spin that came up, the subtle unwanted bend to the knee as Plushenko came a little too wide. Yet that didn't deter from the action! He went on! No change in facial expression, or out of beat; he pushed onwards! Again, a tuck and low spin, then things slowed down ten fold. Leaning forward in his seat, legs muscles tight and shaking as he watched the movements so closely. It became sweet; soothing, and Plushenko blew a kiss to the crowd as he moved on along the rink.

That lean body, wiping about the rink. He liked watching those hands trail down over the lean form. He was tall, slender, of hips and waist. Long arms and legs that filled his movements so gracefully; propelled by lined muscles. There was a reason he had adopted such culture and gone to such a place. The Russian people; he simply couldn't describe his love of them.

He was off again! In the air, repeatedly; as though he was making sure the judges knew he was competent, and that such moves were easy to attain. They were; they couldn't forget that, and the Russian wasn't going to let them forget that. He wasn't done though; more technicals, dancing, showing off more like it. He was brimming with confidence as he 'worked it' at the end of the rink. He was getting quicker, there was more going on, and was that a smile? Plushenko was thoroughly enjoying himself; he was having fun dancing, jumping and sailing as he was. Lo and behold! After 'THAT' move he was expecting handsprings for heaven sakes!

He knew it was coming to and end, one last kiss to the audience, a confident and cocky smirk before he saw him skating away. He was standing he saw; when had he found himself standing? Hands balled tightly into fists… Looking around, he saw Evan, he'd been watching intently; with the face of someone who'd… Just lost? It looked that way to just about everyone else. Hell, he'd heard commentators mutter off right after the Russian was finished; "And he's won the gold!" Things of that like.

Of course; that is not what happened.

Evgeni Plushenko took second?

Russia took silver in singles men free skate?

Weir was happy of the win; Evan was screaming like a girl as it was, and Plushenko? He looked so surprised; in fact, he looked devastated in a few moments.

Though that façade seemed to fade as they had to take up their places on the podium. He'd been so quick to get there; he found himself on the 1st place podium. With a joyful laugh he leapt down from it onto second. Takashi was grinning at the man, chuckling under his breath until Evan got there; taking up that empty place high above the other two. The Russian looked up at him; briefly their eyes met it seemed and then they looked away. The medals were coming this way.

Takashi seemed all too happy for his meager bronze; something along the lines of, the first male figure skater of Japan to win a medal? Things like that easily escaped some. And Plushenko bowed his head and allowed the silver to be placed around his neck, he shook hands, smiled and watched as the gold was placed reverently around the American. The American that had been placed above him. Higher.

Next; they had to listen to that nations anthem. He did. Stifly, he stood erected, hands grasped tightly behind his back, looking away briefly before summoning up his own will to look up to that flag. Why was it so demeaning to see a nations flag higher then his own? It was harder to swallow then it looked, but soon he could skate on his own ice, where odd numbers and scoring wouldn't deceive him.

He and his trainer were standing, the trainer was speaking rapidly to him, he might have been listening. Though he was bowed over his legs, untying his skates; completely stoically silent. There wasn't hardly any acceptance. He was too busy trying to figure out how this had befallen him; was it from his withdraw a while back because of the hernia surgery? Surely because of his lack of skating then couldn't effect him now, he'd been absolutely rigorous in his training for these Olympics.

Alexei Mishin slapped him on the back to wake him from his reverie and speculations. Weir had wanted to approach him and shake his hand; but stopped as he heard what Alexie was saying.-

"As long as is America, then no one will notice. You just don't fight with them."

Weir felt his heart drop as the Russian skater shook his head, and stood. Jumping from the first place podium in his ditch effort to prove that was his spot. He took the medal, shook the 1st and 2nd placed mens hands and went to dress down. No sooner had he had his sweats on and shoes donned, he was bombarded with news reporters. The blonde man, didn't hesitate at all to tell them what he thought. Weir, though unsure of how he thought about the Russian's attitude, was mildly impressed.

Plushenko was stuck up in just about every way. His replies to the questions unbelievable; consisting of. 'In my brain, I'd actually won.'

It was the surety that he found coursing through his body. They, as Olympic champions in their own way, had confidence, but to this extent? He wasn't so sure.

Of course, the Russian was sure it had something to do with Figure skating declining in popularity. Plushenko didn't think Lysacek even compared to him, he thought his quad was compared to the simple triple on the same level, and that had blown everything over for him. There was one thing he didn't mention though; simply because to him it didn't matter; the surgery. He felt it even now, but there was no excuse with that. If he couldn't do a quad, what gave him the right as a man? He was not afraid to take risks.

Weir thought that was what really pulled him to Plushenko though, it wasn't like the man was Adonis; it was the air he carried about himself. Weir fell completely silent as he mulled this over, gently touching the petals of the roses in his hands, burying his face in a little stuffed animal too.

Would Plushenko go back to Russia having to stomach such an upset? How would his fans there react anyways? Having been there himself he wondered how he would be received after skating against him as well. Though he hadn't made much of a dent, he knew he had potential… Then quite the thought hit him; he wanted to be better. Who better to learn from then Plushenko himself? To gain that massive confident air, to skate with such surety, but talking to him would be difficult. He'd done it before, but something was a little different, something was a little off… Was it he or Plushenko really? Admiring someone wasn't unusual, but the need to prove your self better then fifteenth place?

"Don't tell me you're unhappy with it either…"

Weir looked up and to his left, face deep in his stuffed animal. Of course Lysacek would be the one to talk to him.

"I skate for America, why would I be unhappy?"

The man shook his head, looked up to the ceiling, touched the medal around his neck and then set his eyes back on the young skater.

"You've been staring at him intently since he first got onto the ice. It turned rather heated after I won…"

"Nothing escapes you eh?"

"You're turning into a true Canadian now."

Weir smiled and shrugged, the two of them were happy to have their own jackets around their shoulders. Of course they had much the same treatment that Plushenko had, well, Evan did. Not so much he; though he did have few. Mostly just wanting to know if Weir thought he'd been done an injustice or if he thought he was underscored.

Though, in the empty corridors of where most of the Olympics were staying, they found themselves alone and shivering slightly. They needed to get into their warm rooms, but Weir knew Evan wanted to say something.

"You should talk to him."

Weir looked up, stunned slightly.

"Pardon me?"

Evan suppressed a chuckle, opting to try again.

"I said, you should talk to him."

"Oh no no no."

"I think he would receive you more warmly then an American."

"I'm American too!"

Evan smiled and shook his head again, a hand on his shoulder.

"You're Russian too. You adopted much from there. You would be welcomed much warmly than I. Much more."

Weir hesitated, obviously nothing escaped the new Olympic champion of mens singles figure skating…

"I'm scared."

"I'm sure he wont take too big of a bite…"

"Oh hah… Right… Thanks for _helping_ me."

"A pleasure!"

And then he was gone, probably going off the party tonight for his victory of the Russian, and over the skating.

"He's right you know."

Weir turned his head to see that he'd been joined by the 3rd ranked Japanese; Takashi.

"I was going to go and cheer him up. The Americans find themselves taking other Countries had excelled in. I suspect Russia wont be only ones to fall. Sadly. The last man wanted to be seeing is Lysacek right?"

Weir nodded, as long as he wasn't alone then everything would be alright. Right?

That was what he kept trying to tell himself as he resisted the urge to latch onto the small Japanese man as they stood outside his room, he was frowning deeply. The Japanese man seemed less fearful as he raised his hand and knocked rather loudly on the door…

* * *

If you didn't read what I said in the beginning, I remind you that this is simply of my own fantasy!

Please don't flame me or leave nasty comments...

I just want to write about my darling Plushenko! 3


	2. Chapter 2

2nd chapter!

I tried my hardest to say on que.

I want to thank my first reviewer! Thank you so much for leaving such a positive review! I'm so happy to find someone as interested in this as I am!

Well here is to you!

Enjoy!

And the disclaimer from chapter one follows through to this!

* * *

Weir liked to call this silence a stupid silence. In a childish way he stood fuming as they stood for a whole minute waiting for the door to open. However, there was none, and this was obviously demeaning the young man, for he was loosing confidence, but he wouldn't pull away unless the Japanese man did; and that man was standing like stone. When he was about to reach out and politely knock again, they heard someone behind them clear their throat. Weir whipped around actually kind of fearfully; as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. Takashi merely looked over his shoulder with a frown.

"I can help you?"

The thick Russian accent filled both of their ears, and Johnny found like melting was almost impossible to avoid.

"We were looking for some company! Think perhaps you could like some too!"

Takashi seemed to be a bundle of energetic nerves, as he bowed politely and was smiling. Plushenko looked to his left, and then to his right; at other Russian figure skaters that hadn't faired too well. They had bags in their hands, including the 2nd place skater as well. The handful of men looked the two at the door over, lingering of course on Weir. Who wouldn't? It wasn't as though they had dressed out; as though they were looking for the fallen angel get up he had; but the sweats covered it. Plushenko had a crooked smirk as he brushed by them, cark key in the door and the entrance wide open to them.

"Sure. Is no problem."

He and the others brushed by, and Takashi followed; pulling Weir along with him. The Japanese man thought that Weir was being too fearful for his own good. He thought it was completely unnecessary. Obviously, the Russian team was sneaking in alcohol and they were going to wind down; he and Weir would get to join in on that!

"Hope you don't mind anything hard."

Laughing slightly, rolling his sleeves up; he and the handful proceeded to push the beds over to the far side of the walls, pulling them together and away. Then, out of no where a game set similar to a band set was brandished. One of the younger men was setting that up, while Plushenko and the rest were gently rolling out bottles onto the beds. Vodka of course was the main thing seen; but there was also cheap beer, a bottle of wine and a few other unknown rums of some sort.

An unknown Russian was speaking to them in that same thick accent.

"Is fun to play it vasted!"

He was laughed as he picked up the drum sticks and started bouncing on the edges of the bed. Pulling the drums closer and tapping at them, the other two took both the guitars. Crosslegged on the bed, Plushenko was mulling over glasses on the nightstand. It appeared he'd mixed a few drinks together and was contemplating over some 'Kaluha.' Then he shrugged and set it aside, nothing could beat barely tainted vodka.

"Down the hatch! Then play!"

There was a gentle cheer from them as they took the drinks, and indeed shooting whole glasses down their throats like champions. While Plushenko danced to the door and locked it with both locks. What was left in the bottles he held out to the other two.

Weir took his cautiously from the long fingers of Plushenko, tearing his eyes away from those hands to the bottle of vodka; oh he already knew his first sip would be the first thing he'd regret. Not that he doubted the mans sincerity, for that matter whether or not he'd take advantage of an intoxicated fellow skater. Though it didn't help that he was skating for the Americans; and the fact that Plushenko was being more amiable then anyone figured he would have been.

Regardless, and not wanted to come off as rude; he put the rim to his lips, tilted his head back and a short drought of the liquid scorch his throat. It splashed into his stomach quickly, and for a short moment, it felt like he was on fire. His throat burned and so did his chest, while it wasn't exactly unpleasant, it wasn't something he was used to. He spluttered a bit, and elicited several loud booming laughs from the Russians in the room.

"The Water is perhaps, too strong?"

Weir cleared his throat some, and shot a glance to Takashi; who hadn't been looking to impress, and had taking a sip from it like he had with sake. The liquid probably had hardly fazed him somehow. As he was smiling too, while not overly making fun of the complete fail, he was offering his condolences in a short, and shy smile.

"I have forgotten the taste. Друг"

Plushenko sat up, though his smirk wasn't so lazy now. It was a reaction to the perfect use of Russian. Of course, how could he forget that the man could converse in Russian? Weir had gone there, had learned and practiced there, How could he have forgotten that? So what was Weir to him? Russian? Or American?

The Russians had a petit Japanese girl skating in the pairs for them, and there were several people that had abandoned their homes for other countries and other families. Weir hadn't done that though, so to Plusenko; Weir was an American. And the Americans had taken the ice from him. The ice belonged to the Russians.

"It appears so. Друг."

Plushenko replied back, that bottle at his lips again, and took a drink in the same fashion. It would continue like this for the next few hours. Weir hadn't been expecting Plushenko to lighten up, however the older skater did, he didn't apologize, as there was too much pride in him, but his aura wasn't so hateful anymore. Plushenko realized he got nothing out of taking his anger of Lysacek on Weir. He leaned back and there was a large shout from the joyful few glued to the screen. It appeared they'd just run over a song and were celebrating, somehow they have bottles of their own in their hands, and Plushenko joined in with their cheer before swigging down his own.

The music was turned up, the banging of the drums was louder, and the screen was bright as the room suddenly found it's self much darker. The pulsating blue, green, red, yellow and orange made Weir feel oddly like he was at some big party. With the booming and commanding voices of the Russian's, and why exactly was he sweating again?

Oh yes, he and a partially intoxicated Takashi were attempting to dance to a rock song. That was pretty much being failed by the other intoxicated men playing it. None the less the room was filled with laughter, and hopefully the loss of the Russians were all but gone and judging by the level of toxicity, there was a chance it wouldn't even be remembered!

Takashi was rocking his hips in much the same fashion as Weir, in a rendition of the way Lady Gaga had during a scene in her music video 'Love game.' Oh but Weir was totally too drunk for this kind of thing, and he could hardly sustain any more close dancing anymore. He was laughing as he fell over though, of course he fell over into Plushenko though; who had been taking his turn on the guitar. Who had also been watching the males closely. The guitar was discarded easily so he could catch the male on his way down and cushion the fall. Weir found himself comfortably pressed against such a lithe and hard feeling body of the figureskater. He looked into eyes that would have been cold on the ice; but where warmed by vodka, and the fun of the little party of sorts.

Weir simply couldn't look away…

But… Plushenko was married…

Whoa whoa whoa! Why was thinking of something like that anywas?!

He tried to push himself up, but only succeeded in falling back down again, and hitting his head against the mans shoulder. He gave a groan and just gave up movement completely. He could feel Plushenko's body shaking, and suddenly laughter came to his ears. The young man was frustrated that instead of helping him, he was laughing at him!

"S'not funny…"

"Oh but Weir. It is. Funny indeed."

More of the musical laughter to his ears, the sound that made him blush, and he was glad that it wouldn't be seen from his blush induced intoxication. He made to pull himself up again, but as his eyes met Plushenko's once again, they weren't warm at all; they were searing, burning into him, and he felt a moan escape between his lips. With a jerk he rolled off, and scurried away into the willing arms of Takashi who was laughing harder then ever now. His eyes told a different story however as he watched Plushenko, the Russian's and Japanese men eyes meeting.

'_Getting him worked up so soon?'_

The darker ones said.

'_Of course. How could I not?'_

Said the other, and of course, the torture of Johnny Weir was about to begin.

* * *

Fini!

Review please! It heals my always abundant writers block!


	3. Chapter 3

This is like what? The 3rd chapter?

Well I wanna say thanks to; ai-08, XHelloXGoodbyeX, CaptainHiei, , Ice Shipping, Iruchan, Alyanblack2, and Bezimena.

I appreciate the support SO much! Thank you for the reviews.

So as I've said, I'm merely a fan of these people portrayed in the fic. These things most likely never happened, I'm simply writing for mine and other peoples enjoyment!

* * *

Plushenko & Weir

Consciousness came with difficulty, the figure skater of America; Johnny Weir found himself struggling to wake up. With a blasting headache and the stench of alcohol riding his form, his surroundings however, were at least nice. A pleasant view of his own room, none of the people he was rooming with were there though, which was odd.

Looking down at himself, he almost gave a shout. He wasn't wearing his sweats, or the suit he'd worn for skating either. He was graced with a plain T-shirt and some shorts. Wondering as he flung himself off of his bed to check himself over in the mirror. Pulling his shirt up, checking his arms neck, his back and any other part of him he could manage. 'Just what the fuck happened to him last night? And why was there no evidence of anything bad on him? Wait. Why was he pissed that nothing had happened?'

He found himself growling as he all together discarded his things in a heap in the hamper, and waltzed to the bathroom. He smelled appalling, and he wasn't about to go asking around in this condition. After a hot shower, and a hard scrub down of body, mouth, and mind. He felt better; much better.

Then it came down on what to wear! So what did he chose? Something dashing but still able to keep him warm! A pair of dark denim straight-leg jeans, 'kicks' and a tighter long sleeve shirt. It was black, and had cuff like red rings going around his upper arms, wrists and his stomach.

Chewing slightly chapped lips, he decided a simple hemp necklace with a blue stone attached to it would be sufficient enough décor. It was the proper contrast that would be able to bring out the red! Leave it to him to be concerned about how he looked, though he did look rather good. Especially with the way the jeans managed to hug his thighs and hips so well. He smiled, and felt confident to leave his room with a jacket held secure in his arms, gloved stuff in a pocket and a scarf drapped around his shoulders.

He knew that he would find Takashi soon, just a thought in his mind, and he was looking forward to it. The man was so modest and nice, not unpleasant, or scary at all…

The lobby. He'd made it there without so much as running into anyone. The dining area where breakfast was being served wasn't crowded, but it was full to an extent. A couple of tables had been pushed together, where a group of Japanese men and women sat together. Coffee's and small plates in hands as the cheered at the screen. Looking up, Weir saw they were watching skiing. Womens down slope; where the talent of maintaining speed and maneuvering was essential. That took a lot of skill to do without injuring ones self.

"Johnny!"

His eyes flicked from the table to the well dressed Takashi who'd stood and had a hand up towards him. He smiled bright at him, and made his way slowly over there. The young man pulled out a chair, and Johnny greatfully collapsed into it.

Takashi was dressed a little different; actually had skinny jeans adorning his form. They were gray, and were a great contrast to the plaid red and black button up he had on. Plus the plain black vans and a showy black and white checkered scarf around his shoulders. He looked mighty flashy to say the least. His hair was lightly hairsprayed into a wispy, and slightly spiky fashion.

He had to resist the urge to compliment him. The Japanese man looked mighty good in his eyes.

"I feel so stupid right now man. What happened last night?"

Takashi merely laughed.

"After falling over and managed to get away, you feinted when he came over and caressed your face."

Weir remained silent, giving the other a sort of dead state, he looked rather disbelieving.

"You're shitting me. Please tell me you're shitting me…"

Takashi shook his head gleefully.

"I shit you not. He was even kind enough to helping me carry you back to your room!"

Weir was so close to panicking! What if someone saw that? Oh that would be so embarrassing! Things like that could be all over the news! Then there was the fact that Plushenko's career, along with his own and Takashi's could be ruined! Then the two would hate him, and Plushenko would positively want to kill him, and Weir simply couldn't live with that!

"Don't worrying. No one saw."

Relieved for a short time. He heaved a great sigh, and he was clasped several times on the shoulders and back. Hair ruffled in a friendly manner by a few of the group. Of course; they knew of his hopeless plight.

"This is so ridiculous!"

"Oh no! Don't say that!"

"But it is Takashi! It's like… Who am I? You know?"

Takashi shook his head.

"No I don't know. But I do know, you're brilliant on and off the ice. Plushenko knows that. Plushenko said so last night."

Takashi smiled as Weir's face was alight again.

"Of course, I assume he'll be on the ice sometime. We should find him. Perhaps, with all the pressure is gone. We can truly see how he does."

"Isn't that stalking?"

"You want to do it anyways Johnny yes?"

Silence, a heated face and a slightly trouble expression.

"Ah. It just sounds so wrong when said out loud…"

"You are ashamed?"

Another long moment of silence.

"Don't be."

"You make it sound so simple Takashi."

The Japanese man stood, dusted himself off and gestured for the American to follow him.

"No. You American's just make it more difficult then it really is."

Weir had never heard the man take such a tone of voice, the expression was completely new as well. He contemplated possible dual personalities, or perhaps a different façade? Though it had been too good to be true to find someone of such amiable persona. Though, perhaps he just needed someone to be so serious with him. Things change when you compete in the Olympics though, people just don't stay the same…

* * *

He was skating as they came across him, of course; as Takashi had predicted. Then again, what else would he be doing? Plusenko would take whatever chance he had to skate. To claim the very ice that he'd been rejected of.

Takashi held up a finger to silence Weir. Motioning quickly to get the American to sit where he was.

"How can he skate with a headache?"

"You should know that, not I. I'm sure it's got a reason for being 'Russian water.'"

Well of course. Last night probably wouldn't have fazed the Russian, but why exactly were they here?

"To answer question that you're thinking. We are here to see if Plushenko truly lost the battle."

Weir looked genuinely confused.

"The real battle begins after the initial loss."

"I don't see how silver is losing though…"

Takashi smiled and shook his head.

"Evgeni has acquainted himself with gold for a long time.

Plushenko came here for gold, to defent title and lost. Plushenko skated well, he lost while skating well with superior elements as far as one can see."

Weir listened quietly as both gazes were looking ahead to the Russian

skating in a simple tight, black uniform. A print of the Russia Federation glad curled around his right bicep and left thigh. A very simle, very attractive attire.

"Let's watch his inner struggle…Look…"

Plushenko was skating a slow round about the rink; head bowed as he thought deeply about what he wanted to do. He began to hun, and with a sharp turn, pulled a burst of speed to the middle of rink, drawing in his arms and with a small leap to land on one skate; he spun very quickly and stable. Ducking down, the spin slowed, but as he stretched back out, it sped up, putting his skate down his stopped abruptly.

Breathing deeply, and wrapping his arms tightly around his chest, his hips swaying as he began to skate backwards.

"He will try quad right off the bat."

"Will he make it?"

Takashi couldn't say for sure, or rather, he wouldn't. He took a lethargic sloud when Plushenko switched forward at the last moment. A brilliant jump. Both counting the rotations. Plushenko appeared triumphant as he descended to the ice with the last rotation, but like the last time, the momentum didn't carry right. It was worse now though as he was flung forward off his feet. Landing heavily on his front.

Weir stood abruptly, about to call out but Daisuke stopped him by slapping a hand over his gaping mouth and pulling him back down.

"He was not meant to make that jump Johnny…"

the American looked like he was about to cry. Both he and the Japanese watched the Russian draw up onto his hands and knees. Tucking a lock of blonde behind his head in a last fit of serenity.

His gaze turned vicious then, a growl ripped from his throat and he lunged at the ice with a fist. He didn't stop at the first slam though. Constantly punching the cold solid ice till finally his hand was raw ad bleeding. Surely the bones were cracked to…

"Wait…"

Takashi advised, still holding Weir back. Obviously Plushenko wasn't finished, and this was something that shouldn't be interrupted. Something about this whole situation gave Weir and odd feeling. He felt as though he and Takashi were 'putting Plushenko in his place.'

Said skater was standing again. With each time around the rink; he would count up on the rotations. Starting from one and then counting all the way up till for. They weren't the Russian's standard at all though; they were shaky.

"He knows he wont make it! He needs to stop before he gets seriously hurts!"

Finally managing to pull away from Takashi, as he deemed appropriate at that time now. Regardless it was too late; Plushenko was already spinning in the air for that one last quad. His cat-like abilities and balance no longer aided him as somehow his feet pulled up from under him as he landed. He was slammed backwards on to his back.

He was slow in sitting up, and when he did, his good hand went to cradle where his head had been bashed against the ice.

"Evgeni! There you are! Been looking all over for you!"

A young woman not just after came sliding into the picture; Russian flowing from smooth lips as she addressed her husband.

"Hey… What are you doing on the ice there?"

Weir took pride in knowing where to look first. This woman obviously didn't know where her mans heart was. This should have been the first place she looked…

"Would you believe it dear? I slipped. Haha…"

His laugh was awkward as he stood, taking a familiar stance; hands clasped tightly behind his back, a smile was strained.

"Don't get damaged before we go to he after party!"

"After party?"

"Yes! The champions get to attent it!"

Plushenko raised a light eyebrow.

"I think you're forgetting that I am no champion this time."

The woman shook her head at him and put a hand on her hip.

"All the medallists are champions! So stop moping and come with me!

He really could only offer a smile.

"Tonight? Shall I meet you there?"

"Yes! Try to have fun! You're always thinking too much, it'll get you sad. Now, I'm going to tour with some nice Canadian ladies! Don't get in trouble!"

There was a warm laugh, and that kindly lady was slipping off and as she was about to exit, she turned and waved.

"Evgeni, Silver is still winning!"

Then she was gone, leaving the blonde. He raised his aching hand, unaware of Weir making his way closer. At that time he spoke no one in particular.

"You're wrong. Second is the biggest loser yet…"

Plushenko looked down to his hand. After his wife had left; it had fallen to hand limply at his side. Thin steams of the warm, red liquid curled down his knuckled and dripped from his fingertips. He really split the skin it seemed…

He appeared mildly amused at the bright red speckles on the cold white ice.

That was when he saw the shadow of Weir stretch into his vision, he slowly looked up to him, but Weir's gaze was on his hand, he looked sad…Almost…

"What are you doing here?"

Not exactly seething, but you could hear that angered hitch in his voice. His first closed tightly and was pulled behind his back.

"You should take care of that…"

"It is no concern of you."

Weir ducked his head, looking down in embarrassment. When he looked up, there was one thing he noticed; Takashi was unmoving from the shadowed area where they had sat.

"Well, it's not a crime to be worried. Especially when the cause of that worriment is pooling under you."

Plushenko looked down at what Weir was gesturing at. Ah…He'd forgotten…

"Thin blood… I forgot…"

"You bloody fool!"

He grabbed Plushenko by the good arm, pushing him onto a bench and by the rink door he snagged the first aid box that was so conveniently there for such things like this. The box was flung open, the split skin washed with antiseptic, yet still is would bead up again.

He taped gauze pads to his knuckles, an used a soft gauze wrap to hold everything together. Spacing it between his fingers and up his wrist too. Then, he took Plushenko's hand, and ignoring the Russian's wince, applied pressure, just to be careful and hopefully make the bleeding cease.

Then, before he could stop himself, he cradled that hand to his face, pressing his lips to his knuckles. An action his mother did even now if he was hurt; he hadn't even registered the movement until he pulled back and was packing the box up. When he turned and saw the Russian staring at his hand now limp in lap.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking!"

Plushenko remained silent, unlacing the skates and pulling thin sneakers from under the bench. Slipping them on, he stood.

"Stop it. It no longer matters."

Then he simply left Weir there. The man felt absolutely cold after what had just happened. Watching the door Plushenko departed by dejectedly.

"Ice can melt Johnny, but it can freeze too. Will you melt it, or turn to ice along with it?"

Weir shuddered, but took comfort in the gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know… Takashi… I don't know…"

* * *

I dearly hoped that you enjoyed this chapter!

I'm trying to portray them as best as I know how! Which isn't by much.

I PROMISE Weir wont stay so like...Whiny for very long. -evil grin-

I have plans for him.

ANYWAYS! Review and tell me what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Plushenko & Weir

God it was so cold out side! Weir was stuck wondering why he had even let Takashi and a few of his friends convince him to come out just to frolic in the snow. Of course the not so cheap alcohol they were consuming was keeping them warm, but it wouldn't pay to get wasted. Weir simply had an odd feeling, so he was drinking with a lot of consideration. Takashi; no matter how many beers it looked like the young man had just downed, was alive and stable. Weir was about to ask how that was possible, but it escaped his mind as he watched the Japanese man making the most lame snowman ever. Lame because the head was on wrong, the snow had been compacted so much that it was too big, and now too heavy, not to mention hardly anyone was feeling the need to help him get it up properly.

Now Takashi was busy punching its face in so he could make eyes and a mouth. As stated, it'd been compacted to tightly that shaping it was getting to be a pain in the ass.

"Johnny, you know we could use more help!"

The American olympic held in a laugh as he pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and joined Takashi. Taking off his gloves, he intelligently began scratching and digging out the holes rather then punching and poking them; the work came out much easier. However, now the tips of his fingers were a bright burning red. He jammed them back into his gloves and shoved them under his arms.

"I'm glad I'm now skiing or snowboarding. I'd rather mess with ice then snow. Besides, whip outs aren't nearly as wet and cold…"

Johnny shivered and chattered his teeth as an extra exaggeration to the cold. They'd really only been out there for two or three hours. Tonight he was feeling mighty whimpy however, and it didn't help that at this point in time he had a lot of things that we wanted to think over.

Things like what Evgeni Plushenko had said; that second is the biggest loser of them all. Takashi was immensely wise, so he'd have to ask him when they were alone, or when next he had the chance. For now, he really needed to stop being the moping boy that he was. He didn't want to, 'get the mood down' as Takashi told him. The Japanese man had then gone on to describe how the human body and pick up on vibes and chemicals that another body puts up, and that reactions occur which can make the other person sad and mad and happy. Things of that like; hell he'd never known that until now, and of course the way Daisuke had put it was more scientifically described.

Takashi pulled up his hunched over form, humming something under his breath and literally dancing around the snowman and flinging his scarf around the snowman's lumpy juncture between head and torso. Then the hat he was wearing which looked suspiciously like a tiger stuffed animal was shoved over the lumpy mass of a head.

"I'll have to go get a new one tomorrow."

Weir was admiring the new assets to the snowman, at least now the head didn't look so deformed. Not everything could be perfect like in the movies though, or cartoons for that matter.

"Alright! We go in now!"

Obviously thoroughly glad at that, it was getting so dark out that he was having trouble seeing straight. Arms draped warmly around each other and they skipped in a playful uncaring manner all the way up to doors of the hotel they were staying in.

Up until they were in Takashi's room; it had remained very silent. Not uncomfortable, just quiet, and they weren't letting it bother them. There were two other Japanese men in there getting dressed, all trying to find something nice enough to wear to the 'after party'. So far it looked to be something that was put together merely by the competitors. Judging by how soon it was into the Olympics; this wouldn't be the only party hosted.

Takashi was dressed in something casual, but at the same time a little flashy. That always seemed to be his manner, making anything normal appear more the just that. Weir smiled, and had to shake his head in embarrassment as his friend began to strike all kinds of obnoxious poses in front of the mirror.

"Alright, alright drama queen. You look fabulous."

He was flashed a brilliant smile and they went out arm in arm. Takashi shouted in Japanese over his shoulder at the few other young men left in the room; telling them to be sure and lock up after leaving.

After however, they simply walked back to Weir's room since that figure skater wouldn't be coming.

"Sorry that I'm not walking you to the party. I'd feel like such a whiny baby if I did though."

"No it's fine. I understand that."

The Japanese figure skater bowed politely to him, and appeared thoughtful for a moment.

"Don't lock your door. I may come back later."

Weir was confused but nodded in agreement anyways. Not shutting the door completely, from the outside though it would look shut, so he figured he wasn't in any trouble of wandering rabid fans. After that, it was just him left to his own extreme boredom; the TV on at a low hum, nothing beat some childish and cheerful cartoons.

Leave it to him to be so blastingly late to the silly party his wife was just dying to go to. It wouldn't be right for him to mope around, and he wanted to show he could be very amiable and grateful too. Thus the other half of his reason for going; to show he could be more then hateful or pompous.

Having now known what kind of dress to wear, he relied on a pair of nice light jeans, and a fitting white button up; over it he wore a simple dark jacket. Leaving it open to keep it airy and not so stuffy. He looked casual, but not sloppy, and he was definitely comfortable.

Wondering what his wife was wearing, he searched the closet to possible figure it out, but honestly couldn't see any changes. Frowning, he sifted his fingers quickly through his hair to soften and straighten it before finally leaving. Tonight would be his last night here, it was appropriate to at least attend as many events as he could, since his plane won't leave until tomorrow evening.

Plushenko was pleasantly astounded when he made it to the special are designated for parties. It wasn't crowded but there was still a lot of people around; those lucky or skilled enough to claim a medal.

He found even though people had seen of heard about his spoiled behavior, everyone still responded happily to his presence, as though nothing had happened at all. Already he felt like letting loose as plenty of others were already warmed to the bone and happy.

Subconsciously he looked around for the one that had defeated him. Through a small group of talking people, he managed to spot Lysacek. Unsurprisingly there was a whole group of people just about handing off of him. However he was surprised to see his very own wife one of those hanging of the ice champion.

It was as though the very fiber of his existence had narrowed in on this scene. He would not have been so fearful, but with the way his wife was dressed… She was stunningly gorgeous; lavished in dull lavender silk with her hair neatly pulled up. She let Evan spin her into a dance that hid flushed cheeks against his chest. Surely it was only dancing? From there he tucked a miniature of the American flag behind her ear. After that, he simply bit down on his lip, thinking as he turned around to leave, Plushenko honestly has numb in the mind now.

He was shaking, and suddenly his stride wasn't so calm and relaxed. It was a quick powerful stride, one that hunted he had a destination, and he did. Each step making him more and more angry, even though he was directing it at the wrong person. Of all things to be thinking about now though, honestly.

Coming in contact with the very door that was calculatingly left unlocked, when he banging his fist against it, hurt hand and all, it snapped open. The Russian figure skater recovering quickly from his surprise in time to stop the door from closing. As it had hit against the wall and was flung back.

Johnny Weir had been dozing in and out when he was startled, he rolled off his bed to see what the issue was, and there stood a bewildering scene. Evgeni was standing in his door way, and he looked as though he wanted to kill.

Plushenko strode up to him with all the elegance of what he was; a champion figure skater. Then, he felt a stinging slap on his cheek that reverberated all through the room. He almost kneeled over, but could only bow his head and hold his blistering cheek. Not at all sure what he'd done to deserve this.

"What is it with you Americans? Always taking what is mine! You can't just leave us with all we have left?"

Weir was unsure of how to respond to something like that, when he looked up to asses his angered guest. He was met with an uncertain face, one that seemed to be holding many things at once, and at the same time, nothing at all. Plushenko looked undeniably depressed, and angered, yet he wasn't crying or showing any more distress then that. The young man was caught off guard by the conflicting emotions, Weir simply wasn't expecting being treated like this, especially when it was undeserved.

"I haven't taken anything from you!"

The man in all his Russian anger paused, pondering exactly why it was weir he'd hit instead of the one who'd actually invoked his anger. Of course there was a chance that there was a misunderstanding, Lysacek surely wouldn't do something like that…

" I… I'm sorry. I lost it and it came out wrong."

Weir smiled, rubbing his cheek gently and laying his other hand on Plushenko's shoulder.

" I forgive you. Now, tell me what has happened."

Suddenly Plushenko seemed to withdraw, becoming meek and shy to speak. Now only sadness brimmed in his eyes.

"It's nothing."

"Not the answer. You wouldn't have hit me if it was just nothing."

It was impossible to escape that. Although the Russian figure skater was still trying to figure exactly why he'd come flying Weir.

"Come."

Johnny could already see this was going to be something big. They were going to sit, because he doubted either of them would be able to stand soon. Besides, Plushenko reacted well to the command; only small hesitation before he followed. Weir slouded easily on the edge, legs stretch out before him, crossed at the ankles. Plushenko had a bit more rigid posture, hands folded neatly in his lap. He would have looked at east if it wasn't for his constant fidgeting with the bandage around his hand.

"People are so used to you speaking out that anyone could easily tell you're having trouble with something, so spit it out."

Plushenko looked torn between either wanting to scowl at Weir, or just look embarrassed. His face was a warmed color, just the smallest tinge of pink to show he was upset about being read so easy.

"It's Lysacek."

Weir felt a cold pang when he heard that name. Mostly because of the icey way it was said. Now that Plushenko had brought words to his problem, it was starting to affect him; the blond looked like he was tearing up, and there was a subtle shake to his shoulders.

Weir remained silent so Plushenko would continue.

" I saw my wife hanging off of him. Dancing and flirting! My wife…Mine… Letting that American brand her with that flag."

His voice was shaking now. Emotions quite audible.

"He took my gold, and then he took my wife!"

Weir looked mildly surprised. Evan never striked him as the kind of guy to do things like that, plus Evan had a girlfriend. There was an obvious misunderstanding. He was confident that Plushenko had misinterpreted some actions and was jumping to conclusions. First he was going to ask Takashi if he'd seen anything, then talk to Lysacek, but for now he had an emotional spoiled Russian to deal with, whom was surprisingly now crying.

"I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. Now, now… Stop that…"

He draped an arm around Plushenko's shoulder to pull him closer, when Plushenko was leaning against him he wrapped his other arm around the males middle back. Successfully turning Plushenko to face him by doing this. He was rewarded bt feeling soft hair and warm breaths against his neck as the Russian's face pressed to the crook of it. Weir then let the arm around the shoulders fall daring to his waist, but this only allowed Plushenko to latch onto his shoulders now. His arms wrapping tightly around them. Desperately almost?

Weir decided that Plushenko was an odd crier, as the body was wracked with rapid motions, no sound was present. It was always heart breaking to see someone like Plushenko crying. He was holding a star in his arms, comforting him as best as he could. Keeping a tight, secure hold around the man, and Weir donated all the warmth to his companion that he could.

"I am here for you Plushenko. Please don't be sad."

"Call me Evgeni…"

"Same for you, call my Johnny."

Plushenko finally allowed his eyes up to meet Johnny's, the blue-green of them shining in the aftermath of tears. Johnny Weir happily brushed the tears away with greedy fingers, and offering a bright smile. The corners of Evgeni's lips twitched up only for a second, before he laid his head back down against Johnny's shoulder.

"You can stay here Evgeni, so you don't have to be alone."

The only reply received was a small nod against his neck, but really that was all he needed.


	5. Chapter 5

Plushenko & Weir

There was little awkwardness in the male that was awake. He'd managed to squeeze out from the bed to make coffee, but he was quick and eager to be back, Just as soon as he had the covers pulled up, he was enveloped once more in a warm hold. The other male still asleep, yet even in the real of dreams he refused to let his dear friend Johnny Weir go for any longer then a few minutes.

The whole night consisted of tear-filled dreams on both parts, and tight embraces. Their only comfort was each others warm cuddling. Evgeni hadn't once woken up, Johnny wondered how their friendship would be after this, would the Russian hold to him this tightly then? Or would it be like in the movies where it was awkward?

Johnny would have pondered more, but the hotel door gace off a few clicking sounds as a knob was turned, then a click as it was pushed closed. At the foot of his bed, stood an unsurprised Takashi, the man dangling a card key from his fingers. His furrowed eyebrows turned up with his broad smile.

The Japanese made his way over to the bed, sitting on the side that brought him closer to Plushenko.

"Евгений Викторович"

[Evgeni Viktorovich/Evgeni Plushenko]

Takashi whispered softly, then looked up to Weir; whispering to him this time.

"Do you want to know why second is the biggest loser of all?"

He didn't give the man a chance to reply.

"You have me; who never win medal before. I am new in the scene, and the first to bring medal home from this. Then you have Lysacek, young vibrant American, who may have been good, or maybe bad, but he wins gold, now he's best in the world, so three feels good and so does first. But second… He's usually older, and has won gold before, second had a good kick to the stomach, now there is only one person in the whole world better then him, one person he will never be able to beat."

Johnny turned a glazed look to the peacefully sleeping man in his arms. He could feel his eye well up with tears.

"Why-Why can't he beat him? Takashi?"

He was scared to ask, they very question shook his vocal cords, along with the rest of his body.

"Several surgeries for hernias, and he's getting old. Johnny he's the greatest jumper in the world, he's made so many sacrificed that his body just can't handling anymore. He is alley cat on the ice, sure, but alley cats have proven to short life."

Tightening his arms around his charge; he pulled him closer, burying his face into the Russian's hair.

"There were a lot of things he shouldn't have been able to recover from. He's something special. That's gotta count for something…"

Takashi reached out to his friend, laying a gentle and consoling hand upon his head. That comforting hand stroked through his locks, down to caress his face and take hold of his chin to make him look up. Takashi's eyes were hard, dark and knowing. Frightfully so.

"He came charging in last night, he came in angered and messed up and struck me. Right across the face."

Johnny found himself randomly blurting out. His companion had a soft sort of smile, a mysterious look on his face.

"Why?"

"He told me that Evan was dancing and flirting with his wife."

The Japanese knew this already; he shook his head and held up his hand to stop Johnny from saying anything else. He didn't get the answer he wanted so he was just going to have to help the lad find the correct one.

"No. I meant, why did he hit **you**?"

Johnny looked confused, down right caught off guard when he got the hint. The person he should have attacked was Lysacek, but he didn't, he went after him. But why?

"I'll tell you. He is trusting you. He knew you would not be mad at him, but if he took his anger out on Evan, he knew the consequences. You are by far the most forgiving and warmest choice. He chose you with his heart without meaning to."

He wished he could truly understand what that meant. He felt like Takashi was insinuating that Evgeni loved him but just didn't know that he did. It was one of the more ridiculous things he'd ever heard, but he knew from the look in his friends eyes that he was dead serious.

His gaze dropped down to Plushenko, who's eyes brows were furrowed as his sleep was being lightly disturbed since their conversation had risen to just above whispers.

"It sounds better in my head…"

He scratched his cheek with a finger, chewing on his lip as he thought about what he said.

"Anyways you have a better chance of winning him over, rather than I or perhaps Evan. You can speak his language. It would probably make him more comfortable that way."

Johnny was drinking all the tips and information up like his life depended on it.

"And be constant… In his life. However, don't like... move quickly in. Is suffocating and maybe scare him."

Takashi smiled and stood, patting his friends shoulder.

"I would be lost without you!"

Takashi heaved a sigh as he got up, acting like he was fatigued. Bending down, he set his lips against Weir's forehead, tilting his head farther and placing that feather kiss on Plushenko's forehead.

"I know."

The young man waved, bowed his head as was accustomed and offered a great chesire cat grin.

"Ja ne."

Then he turned; scampered out the door, and was left leaning against it, grinning at a friend of his who was leaning against the wall next to him.

" You are conniving. Very sneaky!"

Takashi smiled even more if that was possible. His companies' lips twitched up briefly.

"Genya is hard quarry to catch. I find odd that silly Amerikan can do so vell."

"Don't mistake my intentions, you get what you wanting Artem Borodulin, and he gets something too."

There was a short scoff, and Takashi decided from that; it was time to move before the kid got all high and mighty on him. However, that boy stuck to him like a shadow; hand in his pickers with that same leisurely smile on.

"If you're going to change your mind about who you want, then go find someone else. Not a toll… Aiya. You Russians, like little helpless babies…"

A delicate sniff of disdain could be heard. His counter part had his head bowed. Watching Daisuke's feet and how he walked. It was a smooth gait, and he enviously admitted that third place could have gone to someone worse.

"Hah. What do you get out of helping babies like me then?"

Takashi merely glanced over ,eyed the man up and down as he chewed his answer over carefully.

"Entertainment."

A smirk unbefitting of his face graced him then.


	6. Chapter 6

Plushenko & Weir

Today was nothing but pleasant for the two men as they went from event to event. The two particularly enjoyed the speed skating sector though. Evgeni seemed to really like watching Apollo chase the Korean team around the ice. Of course Johnny would root for everyone, high end of his list though was American, Canada, Japan and now Russia! From that, Plushenko decided not to pout; after all he was stuck to cheering on only Russia and Canada.

When the scene switched from skating to skiing, they were outdoors and just as jealous for this as they were for the skating. Even if they knew relatively nothing about it other then the faster you go, the better your score. Who makes it to the bottom fastest is the winner.

Blocked from view due to how close others crowded and because of the banisters in front of the two were their hands. One of Johnny's fingers hooked to one of Evgeni's in a shy manner. The American skater was so glad that things hadn't turned out awkward.

Takashi had to resist rolling his eyes as he sat across from Artem and Evan. The dark haired American was spilling his distress unheedingly to the hunting Russian close beside him.

Artem had an arm wrapped tightly around the champion in faux comfort. Of course Evan didn't know it was so fake, and Artem was only more eager to stroke the fire about the anger of his possible to-be ex-girlfriend.

"I am here Evan! I promise I'll always listen."

Yet still Evan didn't know why he was saying so much to this young man. Takashi mused it was the multiple alcoholic beverages in front. Artem was right to soften him up now and at that party. Getting the lady to soften up had been hard as well. Takashi just had to convince her of one potent drink, push them together, and viola! Two very sad and susceptible couples with vying men on their heels to help them!

You see, Evan wasn't actually a bad person, Takashi liked him a ot, it just happened he liked Johnny more, with reason it was only natural misfortune to befall someone, when you reach the top so suddenly. That's the person that tends to be selected for that pain.

Takashi turned his gaze over to Artem. Now this boy he knew nothing about. Takashi found himself still wondering how Artem managed to hop along for this ride.

He was a sleek man, actually very good looking. However, no matter how handsome Artem was, Takashi was confident Evan was very straight. That really meant only a few things; Artem was possibly trying to get into a relationship which would probably fail. The more likely one was that he was aiming for a one night stand. Make a man sad enough and give him enough alcohol; he'll cave eventually.

Takashi felt fairly sorry for the American, but he decided it was none of his business anymore, and so he left Lysacek in the capable, clever hands of Artem. Alone.

Besides, there was a young lady from Germany that had wanted to get tips from him. That absolutely could not be ignored!

Johnny was aware that his companion was to leave soon. Staying was expending more money then was necessary. Still it made him sad though, far more then it should. Weir held his crush accountable for his sudden need to throw a tantrum.

He turned towards the man haunting his thoughts. Currently they were both in the lobby of a hotel that had a pit fire. They and a few others were there warming their hands. The two of them had ah healthy flush on the faces because of the cold.

Evgeni responded to being stared at, seeing it was Johnny, he offered a small, quick smile. Rubbing his hands together, replacing his gloves and scarf; he stood.

"I believe it best to go back now. Johnny."

Weir was quick to his feet, though maybe too eagerly.

"Right. Right… You need rest. For before the flight.

"Yes. Is very long you know."

Johnny did in fact know. Having gone there himself. His coach would instruct him in Russian, he ate Russian cuisine often, so on so forth.

It wasn't a long walk from this hotel to heirs. Between fans and other competitors, a lot of space was being used. They were just glad to be in the temperature controlled area. Comparing the elevator to Johnny's room, it was exceedingly warmer. Which meant that his heating unit was broken and Canada's cold climate was making it's self into his room somehow.

Evgeni was looking at it while he sat back under the covers; rubbing his hands together and breathing over them to get them warm.

"Don't think it's worth calling it in now Johnny… Here, let me help you."

In public, they would talk in English, in private, Russian dominated their tongues. Takashi had been right; it helped boost Evgeni's confidence and trust.

The bed dipped, covers pulled back so Evgeni could slip in next to Johnny. Taking his hands, he held them between his own which were exceptionally warmer compared to his. That was a wonder, the American was happy to blame is on being a Russian thing.

Things turned a little familiar when Plushenko lifted those hands to his face, much like Weir had when Evgeni was hurt. That cloth had been exchanged for something softer and thinner now, fining it pleasant against his skin. Each finger twitched at a dampened caress by warm lips. Evgeni gently ghosting hot air over each digit and palm; from that gained the both of them a warm healthy blush.

Pulling away from that heated graps, Weir took hold of Evgeni's face between gentle hands. Not allowing the captive to look away, in the midst of this action he couldn't bring himself to complete it. Hot breath pressing and moving against their lips, a small noise, light and whispy escaping Evgeni's mouth finally gave Weir the courage to finish what he started; a lingering kiss that left a tingling sweet flavor on both of their lips.

"I was thinking…"

There was that ghosting breath across lips again. Johnny was having trouble comprehending yet still he managed to urge Plushenko on.

"I would like if you toured… With me.

Weir was snapped from his daze. What was there to deny? Months possibly to be with this man he idolized and has come to like so much these past few days.

"Of course! Genya! Ah, that made me so happy!"

The young man wrapped himself around the Russian, utterances of his joy loud in Russian.


	7. Chapter 7

There was no way to avoid this kind of confrontation and set of emotions. Evan had it easy asthere was no contract signed with his girlfriend, so there was hardly any consequences for what he was doing, or possibly doing with Artem. That sneaky Russian Figure-skater that had much the same personality as Plushenko; with a clever hint of disguised viciousness. Even though it wasn't hard to see what his intention were, Evan was too excited over a new friend to mind. Artem also realized it was going to take more then a day to completely win his charge over.

Said Russian refused to move any farther from where Evan had left him. You see, Artem had just received a message on his phone from said young man. A rather… Uncharacteristic message. They had finally exchanged phone numbers, before Artem left for the airport, and good too. He wouldn't have to halt his flirting and courting now. Though it seemed things where changed now, and that frightful Asian refused to help him any longer because of how far he'd gotten on his own.

"Sir. Are you going to board the plane now? You're holding up the ine."

He looked up from the compromising message, nodding his head and pushing past the lady and into the terminal to board the plane. He'd have to hurry and text fast, not wanting to miss his chance! The plane was scheduled to take off soon, and with it his phone must be turned off.

Back to how Johnny was feeling, it could be summed up as rather dark and depressing. Without thinking, he'd accepted Evgeni's offer; he'd hardly hesitated at all. That warmth in his stomach and the way his heart swooned, he could not ignore that new found happiness! Plushenko was merely fidgeting with 'trying' to get a tag on his and his wife's bag. She was smiling when she leaned down to help him. Johnny had to look away, hi stomach was making him feel vertigo.

His savior… Takashi was sprinting towards him! Feeling a moment of split joy, he dashed forward to meet the Asian.

"I make it on time!"

They grasped onto each others arms, Takashi was being overdramatic again.

"And you going to Russia eh? I bet you're missing so much!"

"Daisuke! Ah, Russia is also my home! Of course I'd want to return! I bet you're excited to return to Japan!"

The dark haired Asian gave a hearty smile. Gesturing to his suitcase beside his leg.

"I have a victory to bring home. My people will be proud, but…"

"But…?"

Takashi began acting contemplative, like he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"But you won't be there…"

There was a hint of real sadness in his voice, but a lot of it was layered.

"Aw! Daisuke, I will call, and maybe if you'll let me, a visit?"

Inwardly smiling, he looked satisfied with this offer.

"Each country has their own way of skating. Knowing America and Russia. Both are great in world, but you should see how Japan is doing. Great combining."

The American was smiling gratefully because the idea of learning even more about figure skating was exciting! New placed over all were exciting! Plus, he'd be with a great friend.

Takashi gripped Johnny's hand, gace a shake and then bowed. But Johnny would have none of that: pulling Takashi into a tight embrace.

"Ah! You Asian! I'll miss you!"

"Yes, and to you. Ah… Chotto Matte!

Though Johnny didn't understand Japanese, he guessed he was being told to wait. His reward was Takashi shuffling around for pen and paper. Minutes later left him with a foreign number in his phone, and an E-mail address in his pocket.

"My plane is boarding in ten minute… Johnny… Take care…"

Dark eyes darted meaningfully to Plushenko, whom was watching intently by now. Assesing this confrontation, all while keeping up a steady and friendly chat with his wife.

They met eyes and the Russian self consciously looks away. Johnny had watched this and knew what Takashi was telling him. 'Don't get hurt.'

"You too Daisuke! I will totally call… Or text you when I land."

"Please. See you soon Johnny."

"Yeah!"

One more embrace and Johnny had to watch his dear friend careening away.

Turning back to Plushenko, he wore a sheepish smile. Plushenko did his best to return it and look happy. Mostly, a look of concern crossed his face.

"I'm slightly jealous! He gers to elave so much earlier while we still have so much time!"

That seemed to break the ice some, Evgeni let out a concealed sigh. Really now, what gave him the right to be jealous? All Johnny ever did was merely show his happy side to everyone, and it made him want to lock them an up forever! It didn't pay to be so easily riled!

"We only have forty-five minutes! Let's make the best of it!"

Masha, Evgeni's wife cheerfully stated. Johnny could only smile lightly, sticking his tongue out when he realized how glum he looked. It wouldn't pay if the others saw him like that!

"Pfft! And we haven't even found out gate!"

He hefted a big bag onto his shoulder, another wheeling case close behind him. Plushenko in a similar state, but having to hold his wife's purse and a bag similar to Johnny's. Every good husband would hold his wife's baggage. It was a bitter thought for Johnny.

"Evgeni, I already forgot out gate!"

The man sighed; but not in exasperation. He appeared more humored.

"It is gate 'E' 17. Departure."

He read off his ticket, however he wasn't understanding the seating. There was two on one side of the plane, and then three on the other. The numbering went – 'A' 'C' 'D', then on the other side- 'F' and 'E'.

Johnny watched the two puzzle over it. Their seats circled on the tickets; he was scrutinizing where he sat.

"You thought you were getting the window seat eh?"

"I did. Instead I shall be squashed."

He chuckled and gripped his wife's shoulder, squeezing.

"You are the lucky one."

"Oh I really am! It's so beautiful that high up!"

She held her ticket to her breast, smiling the whole way to the gate.

"I hope you do not mind the aisle seat friend."

Johnny smiled and lightly touched Evgeni's hand. Very secretly and careful of Masha's gaze.

" I wont complain, you're trapped in the middle."

Johnny genuinely didn't mind having the far end. It was a good precaution for his altitude sickness. Right now was just that anxious part where the stewards demonstrated conduct and you had to put up with the constant rumble of the plane.

"Is Johnny okat?"

The American looked across to the woman who watched him intently.

"You look pale."

The man laughed.

"I get altitude sickness, I'm not scared!"

Then there was the classic dinging of belt and tray buttons. Weir was already buckled in, leaning back and glancing at Evgeni. No surprised when the Russian had already been watching him. He had a serious look on his face as though he was trying to decide something. If he was going to say anything, he couldn't now. The plane was shaking and moving down the runway. That eerie silence as the plane tipped up and began ascending.

Masha slid the window cover on his side up so she could watch the sky and ground. Through her distraction Evgeni took Johnny's hand to comfort him, even though the young man didn't appear fearful. But maybe it was just for himself, he was sorely missing their private time, no matter how in the wrong he was for it.

They had to let go, looking in opposite directions as they did so. Evgeni leaned over to watch the ground disappear with his wife, and Johnny closed his eyes and began rapidly chewing on a piece of gum to help keep the pressure in his ears down from the altitude. It would help his ears pop and make it less painful.

The only sense of comfort he got, was when Evgeni slouched in his seat just enough that their thighs toughed.

Johnny wondered how much of a creep he must look like smiling with his eyes closed and a look that faintly said he was in pain…

* * *

Author notes.~

Chotto Matte(Cho-Toe Mah-tay) = Wait a minute.

It's phonetic Japanese. If I'm wrong, go ahead and correct me in the comments I guess.

I claim nothing of these people. Don't sue.

These are not actual events that took place. Anything that has similar accounts is of pure coincidence.


	8. Chapter 8

It's been a day since the arrival in Russia. It was actually relatively busy; the airport was filled with competitors and people actually coming from the Olympics. He should have known that citizens would go to, and come back when their events are finished.

Laying in bed, Johnny remembered everyone who had passed him a smile. Everyone encountered treated him like family really, almost the same as they did with Plushenko. However he was more of a hero.

Hand in hand with his wife; they really were the perfect couple. He was torn between the two emotions of jealous and happiness. Jealous because he couldn't be like that with Evgeni, and happy because he knew the feeling was mutual between them. But who was he to get between a marriage? He knew it was wrong in so many ways, be he found himself unable to stop.

Of all people to choose, his was arrogant, snobby, spiteful at times and too serious for his own good. On the other hand; he was also elegant, intelligent, and importantly; very kind to him.

He rolled over in his bed and pulled the sheets further up. Closing his eyes; he figured he wouldn't get much sleep with how much he was thinking. Spireful of the fact Evgeni was probably curled up with his wife.

It's whatever…

The morning he woke up to in Russia was cold; feeling a little cranky even though he knew the weather wasn't anyone's fault. It was his mission to not be a dick about it and blow up in someone's face.

He looked up from the snow, hands folded neatly in his lap. Then to his side where a pair of ice-skates lay: The ones he used to compete with at the Olympics. From there, he looked ever to the deeply frozen in shallow pond; Evgeni was bending over and laid gloved hands in the snow. It was a normal flexible stretch being used to keep the muscles loose. He was able to enjoy the view of a thin form, and right as Evgeni made to switch positions to a new stretch; Masha joined him on the bench. Johnny's pair of skates the only thing separating them.

"You really like skating right?"

He looked at her; it was an obvious answer to that question. He almost didn't even reply because of how silly it was.

"I love it. Almost more than anything else in this world."

"I guess I can kind of understand that. I mean… Loving something so much."

He felt himself stiffen and go a little cold, not from the weather though as he would have liked. Swallowing hard; he knew what she was talking about and it was obviously a sensitive subject.

Leaning back, he laid his arms across the back of the bench and look up to the sky. Anywhere but at her and Evgeni.

"It's just… Don't know if you know, but I messed up really bad. But I love him. I just feel like I can't compete with the ice and-…"

She was obviously distracted when Weir began putting on his skates and tying them up viciously.

"Yeah, I forgive you. And ice is ice. It can only be around for so long, and yet… You'll still be there."

Johnny knew this move would forever haunt and hurt him. But he also knew it was something he had to do: forgive her. You just don't go around messing with a married couple. He could totally live with this too, because he knew who Plushenko would run to during any issue.

Smiling, he tightened his skates a last time and joined Evgeni on the ice. They held on to each other in complicated locked maneuvers that forever had him one step ahead. Competition only came when that woman could skate like him.

He wouldn't do a thing, no. He would just stay and be himself. Because if people were automatically drawn to him, then how could it be his fault?

Oh how much he felt like Takashi now…


End file.
